


To Become the Mask

by Osiria_Rose



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon until Episode 9: Safe Harbor, Canon-Typical Violence, Human Calroy, M/M, POV Alternating, prince consort calroy au, redemption arc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:02:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25819273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Osiria_Rose/pseuds/Osiria_Rose
Summary: When a man wears a mask, at what point does it become his true face? After all, twenty five years is a very long time.
Relationships: Calroy Cruller/Amethar Rocks
Comments: 10
Kudos: 44





	1. The Return

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so a few things. The whole Prince Consort Cal au was inspired by ShippingEverything's series [His royal highness prince Calroy rocks](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1798678)  
> And also, please please please, when you are reading this I beg you not to imagine horrible cake-slice cal. This cal is based on [kindlespark's wonderful humanized Cal](https://kindlespark.tumblr.com/post/621071201312342016/anyway-heres-the-evil-cake-man-no-one-look-at-me) that I Highly Encourage you to check out before you read this

When a man wears a mask, at what point does it become his true face?

Calroy Cruller, Marquis of Muffinfield, right hand and consort to King Amethar of House Rocks, awakes suddenly in the middle of the night. A rude awakening, to be sure, but all the ruder when those doing the waking are the very people he’d much rather never see again. Or, even more ideally, see them all dead. The Rocks family, all of whom are very much alive despite his best efforts, have gathered at the castle entrance and proceeded to be as loud and wretched as they always are. Calroy ignores the trembling in his hands as he leaves his and Amethar’s bed, pulling on his finest pants and striding down the stairs. He is expected to greet them, after all, even if he’d sooner pull out his own teeth than pretend to be civil.

A little voice in the back of his head tells him that, perhaps, he wouldn’t have to pretend, but he ignores it. As if to spite the voice, he pulls a pair of underwear and a note from his shirt pocket and shoves it at one of his servants.

“Take that to the Queen’s study. She’s gone down to greet Amethar and the twins so she’s unlikely to have locked the door. Make haste, she could return any moment, likely with his majesty in tow.”

The servant takes the underwear and hurries off without a word. 

He reaches the entranceway and has to take a moment to compose himself. Pressing himself against the wall just out of sight, he breathes in deeply, and out, and in, and out. Closing his eyes, he stands there. Breathing. Three assassination attempts, three! His teeth grind. _Amethar the unfallen, indeed._ Calroy smooths the creases in his forehead and bursts through the entranceway, plastering on a look of utmost relief. 

Amethar is the first to speak.

“Now _those_ are some nice pants!”

It’s not… _precisely_ what Calroy had been anticipating, but he really should’ve known. Of course those would be Amethar's first words to him after three near-death experiences. _Nice pants._ Typical _._ Calroy swallows past the lump in his throat and rushes forward to capture Amethar in an embrace. 

“Well,” he chokes out, “I had to upgrade in the absence of Candia’s—” He has to swallow again, the tightness in Calroy’s throat increasing, “Of Candia’s greatest fighter!” He attributes the wetness of his eyes to frustration. How dare Amethar return, how dare, how dare, _how dare_ —

Ever ungraceful at accepting compliments, Amethar returns the embrace and says, “Oh, my god, Cal. You don’t—I’m not—Just come here.” Calroy is already in his arms but he pulls him even closer, pressing a chaste kiss to his brow. Calroy notices that, although Amethar has never been particularly subtle, he at least has the decency to turn so Calroy is out of Caramelinda’s line of sight. _Nothing to see here, your majesty, just your husband the king embracing his closest advisor whom he most certainly is_ not _fucking._ Calroy almost snorts. Instead, he tips his head up to look Amethar in the eyes. A smile, small and unbidden, spreads across his face.

“I’m so happy you’ve returned home safely, my king,” Calroy murmurs, and he knows, intimately, the starstruck look on Amethar’s face. The way his cheeks dimple and his lips twist into an enormous grin and he has to fight not to look away because he’s flush to the tips of his ears. Calroy tries not to wonder if this is the last time he’ll ever see it. He kisses Amethar tenderly and pushes him away, pretending as though it hasn’t happened as he turns to face the others. Immediately, he spots a new face amongst them.

“Hello… friend.” The man, all vibrant pinks and blues, says nothing, so he looks to the group at large. “And who’s our hollow-eyed companion?”

It’s Liam who interjects, “You mean the hottie?” He wears a crooked smirk and a new weight on his shoulders. The shadows curl around him in a way that feels horribly familiar.

Calroy blinks. Looking closer, he notices more than the new addition. The pig is stark in its absence at Liam’s side. No wonder Liam seems so ragged; it appears that Preston was lost in the combat as well. He thinks that Liam is likely to cry if he mentions the pig, so all he says is, “Liam has changed,” and moves the conversation on. What he _had_ known, even before setting eyes upon the returning royals, is that Lapin Cadbury had been killed by Keradin Deeproot during their third attempt to assassinate Amethar. “And where is the Chancellor?” 

The Rocks family, sans Caramelinda, exchanges saddened looks. Liam looks down at his feet and says nothing. 

“He…” Jet begins, “The Chancellor nobley sacrificed himself to save Prince Liam and the rest of us in a beautiful moment of heroism. The Sugarplum Fairy herself is sure to spread the news of his sacrifice for days to come.”

There’s a moment of silence before the blue and pink man speaks up for the first time.

“Days?” 

The Chancellor wasn’t exactly well-liked, but Calroy feels… not _sad_ , really, but there’s something pitiful about the way they all squabble over semantics, about the mere days and weeks that Lapin would be held dear in their memory. _Will they feel the same, when I’m gone?_ He hopes not, but a larger part of him thinks this treatment may be the best someone like him could hope for. If they knew all he’d done, they wouldn't spare him the time it took to spit on his grave—if they gave him a grave, because undoubtedly they’d be the cause of his demise and therefore decide the course of his burial. He doesn’t think he’d blame them if they didn’t give him one; it’s not as though he deserves it. Still, who would mourn Calroy, if not the royal family? His men didn’t particularly care for him, his remaining brothers had never felt any great affection for him, and his parents died decades ago. He feels cold. _Nobody. Nobody at all would care._ He’d be buried in a shallow pit with the rest of those felled in battle. Or, better yet, thrown in the woods to rot. No one to mourn, no need for a proper resting place. Just another corpse to dispose of.

If he continues as he is, not a single soul in Calorum will mourn him when he dies. Not his men, not his family, not even the Rocks’. His gut twists fiercely at the thought of Payment Day cleaving him in two. _The Rocks’ least of all._ He grabs Amethar’s hand, relishing in the silent reassurance radiating from the man beside him. At least if the pontifex orchestrates his death, he’ll die knowing he was loved. 

The world snaps back into focus when Caramelinda steps forward and regards Amethar with a cool expression that makes Calroy bristle. 

“We should, uh, we should talk privately,” Amethar tells her. 

“You want to talk? _Now_ , after all these years, you finally want to talk?”

Amethar almost seems to shrink in on himself despite being a man of grand stature. 

“Well, I just, it… I have a lot to say to you.”

Caramelinda does not dignify that with a response. She tells Theobald to take the princesses inside, both of whom complain heartily, but Calroy isn’t listening. He’s sidled up alongside Amethar and is rubbing soothing circles on his back. Amethar, in turn, wraps an arm around Calroy’s waist and pulls him flush against his side. He says nothing. Calroy returns the favor. 

Eventually the queen shoots a pointed glare at her husband and strides into the castle. Calroy gives Amethar one last conciliatory pat on the shoulder and he follows after her like a kicked puppy. Theobald escorts the princesses and Liam inside shortly after, leaving only Calroy and the stranger. 

In the quarrel he learns that the new member among them is Cumulous Rocks, a distant cousin to the royal family who worked with Lazuli. 

Still, he has to ask, “So you are…?” leveling him a questioning look.

“I am a monk of the Order of the Spinning Star,” Cumulous says, voice a drawling monotone. 

Recognition jolts through Calroy like an electric shock and he knows, without a doubt, that this man will not hesitate to kill him given the opportunity, and resolves to stay far, far away from him. 

“...Got it. How about I have someone show you to your room?” And he does. He finds a servant, instructs them to bring Cumulous to a guest room in the wing of the castle directly _opposite_ his own, and walks off. Consumed by his racing thoughts, he reaches his quarters—King Amethar’s quarters, who had, many years ago, essentially moved Calroy’s earthly possessions into the room himself, if only to force him to take the hint—and barely keeps himself from slamming the door.

It’s an odd thought, being murdered by a member of House Rocks. _He’d kill me. Truly and without hesitation, Cumulous would kill me._ As would the entire family, he realizes. It doesn’t matter how much they care about Calroy _now_ , as they know him. Calroy the friend, the loyal subject, the advisor, the doting uncle. Even Calroy the lover is meaningless in the face of Calroy the traitor, the oath breaker, the kinslayer, the murderer. Calroy the sinner, unworthy even of the air he breathes. _They’d kill me without a second thought._ He imagines being pierced by a peppermint bolt, run through by Flickerish or bludgeoned to death by the Battlepop. He’s nearly sick envisioning Payment Day thrust to the hilt through his chest. The room swims and blurs before his eyes and he backs against the wall, sliding to the floor. 

The Rocks family is a tight-knit bunch who will defend each other unquestioningly. If they were to realize Calroy has orchestrated attack after attack against them, allied with Ceresia, _killed_ Amethar’s sisters… 

Well. Let’s just say that if they wanted him dead, he would be. And that’s the kicker, isn’t it? They’re bound to find out eventually. It’s kill or be killed, at this point. 

Kill the Rocks’ and live. Maybe. If he doesn’t fail for a fourth time. Be appointed de facto ruler of Candia for the foreseeable future. Bend the knee to Ceresia and the Pontifex and hope the populace doesn’t rebel against him for unseating their beloved king. 

_Don’t_ kill the Rocks’ and let them discover his treachery and _be_ killed. Or, even more likely, wait until the godforsaken pontifex realizes he’s betrayed her and she’ll hunt him down herself. Maybe she’ll be unsatisfied and have him killed regardless of his success; he’d be lying if he claimed to be privy to all her plans. 

Although, even with the odds stacked in Calroy’s favor, three assassination attempts have already failed. Who’s to say the fourth won’t as well? If Amethar survives, he’d stop at nothing to see Calroy dead by his blade. So, really, if he attempts to kill the Rocks’ he could fail and they’d come back for revenge. But if he doesn’t, the pontifex will have him branded a traitor and kill him instead.

 _Die or die, Calroy, your choice_.

Overcome by a sudden chill, he hugs his knees to his chest. 

_But to die but who’s hand?_

And all he knows is that he doesn’t want to die at the hands of a friend.

Calroy finds Amethar sitting morosely outside on a balcony next to their rooms. They are dizzyingly far from the ground and the watersteel dagger in his boot burns. It would be so easy. They were already on a ledge, Amethar’s back was turned. He could just—

A shudder wracks his frame and he shakes the thoughts from his head. 

“Good time… Bad time?” 

Amethar turns to look at him and he smiles tiredly.

“When it’s you, Cal. Anytime.”

Calroy feels a sharp pang in his chest. He doesn’t know if he’s made the right choice, but he knows he’d never be able to live with himself if he carried through with the plan.

“I’m glad, because I need you to come with me.” 

“I don’t know, Cal… I’m not sure if I’m in the mood for anything right now.”

Calroy swats his bicep. “Not _that_. It’s about the princesses, I checked their quarters and everything looked untouched. Not only that, but Liam is also missing. I don’t think they’re in the castle.” And _oh_ , it kills him to put that look on Amethar’s face, but time is of the essence. 

“What?” Amethar leaps to his feet in a panic. “I thought Theo put them to bed!” 

“I thought that, too.” Calroy gestures for the king to follow and he does, hovering close behind and obviously on the verge of breaking into a run. “But they weren’t in bed or at the dining hall so I checked Caramelinda’s quarters. Interestingly enough, I found this note.” He pulls a random missive from his pants pocket and thanks his lucky stars that Amethar can’t read. He flashes it in front of Amethar’s face briefly as if to ensure its authenticity before tucking away. “It’s addressed to Caramelinda from the owner of the lingerie shop in Dulcington, informing her that she, the owner, would be out of town. It goes on to ask Caramelinda to retrieve an undisclosed item from the shop’s attic.”

“Lingerie? But she doesn’t wear lingerie! Why would she be in cahoots with the lingerie shop owner?” 

Calroy eyes Amethar behind him. “That’s the conclusion I came to as well.” He looks forward again. “I think the note is likely to have been forged and placed there specifically for the girls to find. They are well-known to be mischievous and disobedient, so it’s not outside of the realm of possibility that someone banked on them snooping around, finding the note, and going to investigate themselves.” 

“Well, we’ve gotta get to that shop then, why aren’t we running!?” 

Calroy throws an arm out to catch Amethar across the chest, grabbing at his shirt to bring him closer to Calroy’s face.

“Shh! We can’t run yet, and keep your voice down,” he hisses into Amethar’s ear, “We don’t know who we can trust in this castle. Whoever placed that note had to have done so less than an hour ago, maybe even sooner. They could still be in the castle. They may not have been working alone, either, so at this point in time, anyone who wasn’t outside with us earlier is suspect. Trust. No one.” He punctuates the last words each with a hard tug on the fabric bunched in his fist and lets go. “We have to hurry, but we can’t make a scene or people will get suspicious. We can’t give away that we know anything is going on. If anyone asks why we’re going out so late, I’ll tell them we’re going on a walk around the castle together.” 

They reach the gates and exit, Calroy casually waves to the tart guard stationed there and informs them that, “Amethar and I have quite a lot to catch up on, so we’ll be taking a stroll of the castle grounds. You needn’t worry about us, we’ll return soon.”

Calroy tugs Amethar by the arm, leading him around the outskirts away from the tents he knows to be filled with enemy troops. _Calroy’s_ troops. Who absolutely cannot be allowed to see him until it's already too late to stop their escape, hopefully not even then. 

As soon as they’ve reached the edge of the field, he starts running. They reach Dulcington with no sign of the princesses or Liam. 

“Do you think they’re already inside?” Amethar asks, peering over Calroy’s shoulder at the shop. All the lights are out and they don’t spot anything through the windows. 

“There’s really no telling unless we check for ourselves.”

They approach, creeping forward through the shadows. The door, when Calroy checks, is unlocked. They exchange a glance. 

“Are you ready?” Calroy says, his saber low and ready in his grasp. 

“With you here? Always.” Amethar unsheathes Payment Day and nods his assent. 

Calroy opens the door to utter darkness. The moonlight spilling past the doorway does little to show them the way, so they edge carefully along the wall until they find a staircase. They gaze upwards into the blackness and see nothing; the attic must be pitch black. 

“Wait a moment,” he murmurs, reaching into his pocket, “I have some of Primogen Alfredi’s eye drops. They’re rumored to give you enhanced sight even in near-total darkness. One drop in each eye and we should be able to see perfectly.” He applies the eye drops to himself and hands them to Amethar for him to do the same. 

The room comes into startling clarity in the blink of an eye and he gestures for Amethar to let him take the lead. The stairs, thankfully, don’t creak even under Amethar’s considerable weight, so he ascends quickly. Just as the attic comes into view, he grabs Amethar’s arm and whispers to him.

“You go on ahead, I’ll sneak in behind you.” 

Amethar gives him a stalwart nod and runs the rest of the rest of the way up the stairs, bursting through the door with a war cry on his lips. 

He hears the relieved cries from the children and the furious ones from their attackers but pays them little mind, burying himself amidst the shadows and slipping in silently after Amethar. 

The scene is as he imagined it, but it looks like they got there in time. The princesses are in one corner, looking relieved and panicked in turns. _Probably because they can’t see for shit._ Ceresians skirt around them, inching closer and closer to the two girls who stand obliviously by, eyes darting fruitlessly back and forth as they try and fail to catch even the barest hint of a silhouette. He makes a mental note to share the eye drops with the girls next time as well; it wouldn’t do to have them so defenseless. 

Liam is nowhere to be seen, but considering the man he knows to be Senator Ciabatta is riddled with peppermint bolts, he must be nearby. 

Amethar charges forward and skewers the first enemy effortlessly on his blade, heaving them off with a mighty shove.

“Stay away from my daughters!”

“Pops!” 

That leaves three, all of whom wield watersteel. The next assassin makes a mad dash towards Ruby but Calroy, always, _always_ the quicker draw, gets there first. He emerges from the darkness in a flash, parrying the dagger effortlessly. It’s knocked from the perpetrator's grip and skids across the hardwood. He catches the slightest sheen of steel out the corner of his eye and whirls around, just barely catching another dagger with his saber. It, too, flies from their hand and slides far out of reach. 

Except… Senator Ciabatta has in his other hand, a _second_ dagger. 

And, well. Calroy only has _one_ saber. One saber that happens to be far along into an upswing, miles away from Ciabatta’s other hand. He’s gotten sloppy in the years since the war… 

The watersteel cuts through his Candian flesh like wet tissue paper, plunging deep into his gut. A fierce burning sensation begins in his wound and spreads throughout his body as the poison takes hold. His vision is reduced to a swirling pastel and he’s… _frozen_. All he can do is gasp for air as he trembles, doing his utmost not to choke on his own blood. 

His saber clatters to the floor. 

“Cal? Cal!” 

He spares a final, venomous glare at the Senator.

And Calroy Cruller, right hand to the king, collapses. 

  
  



	2. The Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! I can't guarantee all updates are going to be this fast, but here's the newest chapter!  
> CW: There's a brief, minimally graphic depiction of surgery near the end of the chapter if that bothers you.

Amethar heaves the masked assassin off of Payment Day, the smells of copper and yeast filling the air. _Ceresia_. Blood is roaring through his ears and he almost doesn’t notice the clattering of something metallic connecting with the hardwood. Too loud to be a dagger, too quiet to be any of the kids’ weapons. He turns and sees Cal, his hands stiff and weaponless, just as his saber has fallen still upon the ground. 

“Cal?”

His gaze pans upward, thinking it strange for Calroy, the best swordsman he knows, to be disarmed so handedly mere moments into battle. He feels his heart skip a beat and all the sound in the room is replaced by white noise. Amethar’s vision blurs at the edges. All he can see is his best friend, the _love of his life_ , gasping for air as he bleeds out. 

And Amethar has never felt more terrified in his life. 

“Cal!” 

Calroy coughs and a spray of blood decorates the floor, the rest filtering sluggishly through gritted teeth to cascade down his chin. Haltingly, as though the act is a monumental effort, he turns his head towards one of the assassins and gives him perhaps the most poisonous look Amethar has seen in decades. 

He falls. 

Amethar’s not sure if he’s ever moved faster than when he races to Cal’s side, just barely catching him before he hits the floor. Cradling Calroy tenderly, he whispers to him.

“Cal? Can you—” Tears glaze his eyes and he has to wipe them away. His breaths are coming faster and he _knows_ he’s shaking but he pushes down the panic as best he can. He’ll let himself cry after he’s gotten everyone out alive. “Can you hear me, Cal?” 

He doesn’t reply. His teeth are still grit shut and the only sound he seems able to make is the wet rasping of his shallow, irregular breathing. His eyes, however, are open and trained on Amethar’s face. 

Behind him, Amethar hears the whizzing of peppermint bolts and the smell of yeast gets stronger. A body hits the floor. 

He takes Cal’s hand—far smaller and more delicate than his commanding, suave demeanor would have you believe—and holds it gently between both of his own. “We’re gonna get you out of this, okay? You just have to hold on a little bit longer.” Amethar will be the first to admit that he’s not particularly proficient in the ways of medicine, but if there’s one thing he _does_ know, it’s that applying pressure to a wound helps stem the blood flow. Amethar gives Calroy’s hand a quick squeeze that he hopes is reassuring and thinks of how to do this other than by staying where he is and using his hands. Liam is capable but the girls are still defenseless without being able to see; he needs to get back into the fray. He shifts his weight as he gingerly lowers Calroy onto his back on the floor. As he does, his cape fans out around him.

His cape! 

He rips the offending article off his shoulders and tears free a long strip as wide as his hand. Lifting Cal up ever-so-slightly, he slides one end of the cloth underneath him and out the other side. He takes both ends in his hands and wraps it around Calroy’s midsection, knotting it as tightly as he dares and trying to ignore Cal’s stifled moans of pain. His lips twist into a grimace and he murmurs, “I’m sorry,” with each noise that Calroy makes. Amethar takes the remains of his plush cape and pillows it under Calroy’s head, tilting his face to the side so the blood trickles out from the corner of his lips instead of pooling inside his mouth for him to choke on.

He stands to continue the fight, but immediately knows it’s already over. Even if the two remaining enemies weren’t weaponless and heavily wounded, they were clearly outmatched. They cloaked themselves in the deep darkness, expecting defenseless children utterly unaware any danger. These—a muscle in Amethar’s face spasms as he attempts to reign in his fury—these _honorless villains_ had not expected to be facing two of the most capable soldiers in all of Candia. 

He hears Liam explaining to his daughters that there’s no longer a threat.

“Who sent you?” The remaining assailants exchange panicked looks. “Talk! Or die where you stand!” Amethar picks up Payment Day from where he threw it aside when he caught Calroy. Leveling it one of their throats, he says, “Who. Sent. You.” With each word he applies more pressure, until blood drips from the wound.

“Senator Ciabatta!” they gasp out, “It was the Imperator who forced us to accompany him on this heinous venture!” The other only stares, not saying a word. 

“Where is he now?” 

They shakily point to one of the corpses and Amethar gazes at it for a long moment, viciously satisfied, yet... _If only I could've killed him myself_.

“What else do you know?” 

“Nothing, I swear! We’re only foot soldiers, low-born and of no great prestige within Ceresia!” 

He withdraws his blade and the Ceresian slumps in relief.

“Then, I guess we’re done here,” Amethar says blandly. 

“Yes, yes, of course, your majesty, we’ll never cross you a—” He goes crashing to the ground from a kick to the chest. Amethar lowers his leg and approaches. 

“No,” he says, “you won’t even get the chance.” And he thrusts his sword through their chest. The last enemy, frozen in shock, is given much the same treatment. When both lay dead Amethar hurries to sheath Payment Day and is kneeling at Calroy’s side in an instant. 

His condition is much the same, if a little worse. He’s far paler than usual and his eyes are glassy with pain but he seems lucid enough. 

Smoothing Cal’s sweaty, matted hair from his forehead, Amethar murmurs to him, “We’re okay. From what you said, I don’t think it’s safe to go back to the castle but Manta Ray is still out in the harbor with his ship. I can get us there and we’ll have you patched up in no time, alright, Cal?” Calroy stares. His blood continues to flow. 

“Pops! What’s going on?”

He doesn’t look at them as he replies, instead focused on gathering Calroy carefully into his arms. Cal is still trembling, so he takes the cape from under his head and wraps him in it before lifting him up. 

“I think we might be under attack. Or we’re about to be.” He nervously adjusts his grip, trying to better secure the cape. “We can’t go back to the castle when we don’t know who our allies are. We’ll retreat to the harbor and have Manta Ray take us to the Great Stone Candy Mountains.”

“But, Dad, shouldn’t we stay and defend the castle?” Jet pumps her fist in the air. “We can fight!” 

“No,” he says cuttingly, and though Calroy is already in his arms, he holds him even closer, “you can’t.” They flinch back. “You three went off on your own and look what happened!” He feels the tears gather again, a few slipping down his cheeks. He really shouldn’t be so harsh with them, he realizes, especially when they can’t even see the consequence of their actions, dying in his arms. His shoulders droop. “I’m sorry, girls,” he sighs, “But we can’t stay here. Jet, Ruby, come with me to the docks. Liam, I need you to sneak back to the castle to warn Theo, Caramelinda, and Cumulous and bring them to the ship. Don’t let anyone else see you. If there are too many soldiers for you to get across the bridge and directly to the docks, wait further upriver closer to the castle and we’ll get you on the boat somehow.”

“Wait, we’ll go with Liam, we’re stealth!”

“ _No_. Now come on, we don’t have much time.” Calroy’s blood has already begun to seep through Amethar’s clothes. 

Liam has vanished by the time he looks back at the girls. He walks to them.

“Grab the back of my shirt, I’ll lead you until you can see again,” he mutters. They grasp hesitantly at his tunic, letting out small sounds of surprise when he moves forward suddenly.

The three of them make it outside and he shakes off their hands, stopping for a moment to allow their eyes time to adjust to the sudden brightness. He doesn’t turn to look at them. 

“You girls lead, I’ll need to follow behind. Can you two scout ahead to make sure there aren’t any guards? I don’t know who noticed us leave but they could’ve spread that news to anybody on the castle grounds by now.”

He can’t see them but they sound puzzled when they say, “Sure, Pops, we’ll go a little ahead and come back.” Jogging past him, they spare him a glance, stopping suddenly when they spot Calroy concealed by Amethar’s cape. Ruby tilts her head. 

“What’s that in your arms?” she asks.

“There isn’t time for this. Please, just go on ahead.” He steps back and the cape moves with him, falling away to reveal Calroy’s distinctive striped pants. 

This time it’s Jet who chimes in with an inquisitive, “Wait, aren’t those—?”

“—Uncle Cal’s pants?” Ruby finishes.

“Why didn’t you tell us he was here?”

“Is… is he okay?” 

“Yeah, did he get hurt? Why are you carrying him?”

Amethar replaces the cape where it had come loose.

“...He’ll be okay.”

Ruby and Jet look at each other and then back at Amethar, furrowing their brows. 

“Are you—”

“Calroy is going to be _fine_ ,” he stresses, trying to believe it himself, “Now go!”

They take off without another word and it’s only the fact that Calroy’s in his arms that keeps him from burying his face in his hands. 

“You aren’t allowed to die, Cal. What would I do without you?” He wants to peel away the fabric covering his face, but refrains, afraid of what he might find. “I can’t even _read_ , Cal, how would I…?” Amethar hugs the bundled Calroy tighter and lowers his head to rest against Calroy’s chest. He rocks gently back and forth on his heels for a minute in silence. “...I don’t know how I’d go on without you by my side. Please, _please_ be okay...” 

“Pops…”

His head snaps up and he stares at them, tears in his eyes. 

“Are you sure he’s alright?” Ruby asks tremulously. 

The girls look like they might cry, too, Calroy having acted as something of a third parent to them; the perfect balance between strict, serious Caramelinda and indulgent, happy-go-lucky Amethar. It’s clear to all who know them that whenever the girls say “Uncle” they really mean “Father”.

“He, uh. He’s—we—” Amethar swallows thickly and tries to blink away his tears. He takes a deep breath. “We’ve just gotta get him to the ship and he’ll be fine.” He can’t quite stop his voice from breaking but he can tell the girls want, with everything they are, to believe him, so they don’t ask twice. “Is the coast clear?”

The abrupt change in topic catches them off guard and they, too, go through the process of clearing their throats and wiping away the beginnings of their tears. 

“Yeah, looks like it. We didn’t see anybody.”

“We scouted all the way to the dock and back and there wasn’t a single soldier.”

“Not even a light on in any of the shop windows.”

Amethar nods, straightening from where he’d been hunched over Cal. 

“Then let’s hurry.”

He has Jet and Ruby lead, mimicking their path through the darkest shadows until they reach the harbor. The Bel Baby is docked mere feet from dry land, but he can’t risk jostling Calroy by climbing or jumping on board. He’ll have to wait until they extend the gangplank. 

“Ruby, can you use that one spell that you and Theo have? The one that lets you talk with your thoughts?”

“You mean Message?” 

"Yeah, yeah, that. Can you use it to get a hold of Manta Ray? Tell him to let us on deck and that we need to leave quickly and quietly. No one can realize we’re leaving until we’re already gone.”

She pauses in thought, forming the Message in her mind, and they all wait for Manta Ray’s reply. 

Shortly after, she informs them, “He says that he’ll start waking up the crew and they’ll get the ship ready for departure as quickly as they can. He should be on deck soon.” 

“Good, good…” Amethar nods, trying to ignore the pit in his stomach.

True to his word, Manta Ray and a few crew members rush to the upper deck and lower the gangplank. Amethar carries Cal across and the girls scamper anxiously after him. 

“Now what's this I’m hearin’ about a mutiny? Got yerself into trouble again, have ya, Amethar?” Manta Ray attempts to elbow Amethar playfully in the leg, but he backs away. Manta Ray narrows his eyes, joking demeanor all but gone. “Alrigh’, alrigh’, what’s happened to get you in such a tizzy? Anything to do with that there bundle you’re carryin’?”

Amethar sighs. “Cal was wounded by Ceresian assassins trying to kill my daughters. One of them stabbed him in the stomach with a dagger. He collapsed and hasn’t moved since, so I carried him here for treatment. I’d have brought him back to the castle, but it’s not safe there, not when someone lead enemies across the border.”

“Calroy Cruller?” He raises an eyebrow. “Ain’t that the pretty boy you’ve fancied for ages now?”

“Now isn’t the time, Manta!”

“ _Fine_. Let’s see him, then.”

Amethar jerks a little in surprise. “Wha—here?” He glances surreptitiously at his daughters, then back to Manta Ray. 

“Below deck, then,” he concedes, striding away with Amethar in tow.

“Wait, Pops! Can’t we help?” Jet and Ruby have their pinkies locked together as they gaze up at him pleadingly. Their eyes flick to and away from the bundle in his arms. However well-intentioned they may be, he can’t let them see Calroy like this. 

“...Yeah, help the crew ready the ship and be on the lookout for Liam and the others,” Amethar says and follows Manta Ray below deck. 

Once the door closes behind them, Manta Ray asks, “So, what’s his status, you think? Still alive?”

“Of course he’s still alive!” _He has to be._

“You sound mighty sure of yourself. When’s the last time you checked him over proper-like?”

“I—uh. Eight, maybe ten minutes ago? I’m not really sure.”

“Ten minutes! A lot can happen in ten minutes, you well know.” He leads Amethar into a room with a raised wooden platform in the center. “Set him down here, I’ll get the surgeon.”

Amethar lays Calroy on the table with a care bordering on reverence while Manta Ray calls for the only surgeon on board. He takes the edges of the cape and holds them there a moment. Breathing in deeply to steel himself, he pulls the fabric aside.

An incredibly pale, washed-out Calroy slowly blinks his eyes open.

“Am...ethar…?” Cal’s voice is barely a breath. His eyes, similarly, appear glassy and unfocused, as though he were barely conscious. Amethar holds his hand, if only to ground him.

“Yeah, Cal, it’s me. It’s Amethar. I’m gonna need you to stay with me for a little while longer, okay? The surgeon’s coming to fix you up.” 

“I...sah...y…” Cal tries to say something, but his lips barely move, and each sound is far too quiet for Amethar to make out.

He debates for a moment between insisting that Cal save his energy and talking to keep him awake. Eventually, he says, “What was that, Cal?” 

Calroy mouths a few words, seemingly the same ones, over and over again. 

“That’s the lad, Brieanna, Amethar brought him in a few minutes ago.” Manta Ray leads a grim-looking dairy islander into the room. In the light, her white skin gives off a dull, waxy sheen. 

“Your majesty, if you’ll please move out of the way so I may tend to him?” Amethar does so wordlessly, still transfixed by Calroy’s indecipherable murmurs. 

Brieanna unties the strip of cape before lifting Cal’s tunic, leaving the wound exposed for her to examine. The worst of the bleeding appears to have passed, thankfully.

“You said he couldn’t move?” she asks Amethar, voice low and clinical. 

He snaps to, looking away from Cal’s still-moving lips to meet Brieanna’s piercing gaze. 

“Yeah… He hasn’t moved since he was stabbed. I think the dagger might’ve been poisoned.”

She narrows her eyes in contemplation, “It seems likely that it was a strong paralytic of some kind. There’s nothing I can do for that, I’m afraid, except wait for it to run its course. For now, I’ll deal with the wound itself and worry about the poison later.” She crosses the room and opens an ornate chest, pulling out a bottle and another, much smaller chest. “Will you be staying to watch, your majesty? I’d have thought you’d rather return to the princesses, if you don’t mind me saying.” 

“I’ll stay here with Cal, if that’s okay?”

She raises an eyebrow, an odd note in her voice when she replies, “Aye, that ought to be fine so long as you stay on the other side of the table.” He nods. “Good, then we shouldn’t have any problems.”

Opening the smaller chest, she takes out a rag and wipes the wound free of half-congealed blood. Then, taking up the bottle in her other hand, she uncorks it and pours it onto a second rag, releasing the scent of strong alcohol. Calroy hisses through his teeth when the cloth makes contact, eyes regaining some clarity. 

“Hang in there, Cal.” The expression on Cal’s face is entirely deadpan. Amethar suspects, were he in his right mind, Calroy would have rolled his eyes at him. He almost smiles before he catches a glimpse of Brieanna with a needle and thread and has to look away. Kneeling next to the table, he closes his eyes, opening them just as Brieanna finishes her stitching and douses the wound in alcohol for a second time. She smears it with a thick, foul-smelling poultice and wraps his torso in cloth bandages. 

“Alright,” she says, wiping her hands on yet another rag, “I’ve done all I can do for him, he’s in the hands of the spirits now.” She walks to the doorway, stops, and turns her head. “Oh, if you’d like to put him to bed, there’s a room down the hall to the right. Don’t rip his stitches.” Brieanna leaves. 

Following her instructions, Amethar carefully lifts Calroy up and carries him out the door and down the hall, leaving his bloodied cape behind in the operating room.

He never liked the damn thing anyway.

  
  



	3. The Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Think of this chapter as a nice reprieve from all the drama! I hope you enjoy this little interlude.

Calroy awakens gradually, peeling his heavy eyelids open to a mass of indistinct, swirling colors. He groans. One of the shapes—noticeably more vibrant than the muted browns of the remainder of the room—springs upwards and approaches the… bed? Calroy assumes he’s in bed. 

“Cal!” Ah. The bright shape is Amethar, then. “Oh, thank the Bulb above, you’re alright!” His hands hover anxiously over Calroy’s prone form, clearly wanting to embrace him or something equally sentimental. “Are you—can you talk? How do you feel?” 

_“How do you think I feel?”_ he doesn't say. _“Like I’ve been stabbed.”_ He doesn’t say that, either. He knows he shouldn’t blame him for asking stupid questions since Amethar is obviously emotionally distressed, and rightfully so, given that someone he claims to love nearly died. But given that the someone who nearly died is _himself_ , Calroy figures he’s allowed to be a little insensitive, even if only within his own mind.

Calroy’s vision has mostly cleared, and past the vicious pounding in his head he makes out a much more distinct vision of Amethar, wringing his hands together. 

“Am—” Calroy starts to say— _Amethar, Amethar. Isn’t it always?_ —but his throat, far too dry, keeps him from speaking. He’s cut off by a cough that has his face contorting from the pain. Instead, he reaches out to Amethar with a trembling hand. Or tries to, at least. Distracted by the horrible, burning pain in his abdomen, Calroy hadn’t immediately taken notice of the much subtler feelings of numbness and tingling throughout his entire body. If the stab wound is an active flame, the poison spread through him is of the leaping embers, dancing in his blood and singeing everything they touch.

His hand, after a moment of struggle, responds to his wishes and extends towards Amethar. It’s slow and incredibly halting to the point that he can see the pity in Amethar’s eyes as he reaches to meet him halfway. Calroy’s conflicted between slapping his hand away and holding it tighter. Too bad he can’t do either. 

The next time he wakes up—when had he fallen asleep?—it’s to muffled shouting from in the hallway. The door opens and the princesses rush to his bedside.

“Uncle Cal, you’re okay!” Jet says. Loudly.

Ruby, wisely, doesn’t shout directly into his ear and instead presents him a glass of something he can only presume to be milk. Perhaps cola, if he’s lucky. 

“Do you need help sitting up?” she asks, appearing to already know the answer since she’s already put down the glass. He nods anyway. She helps him sit up, studiously ignoring every gasp and twitch.

She offers Calroy the glass and he doesn’t even pretend to be able to hold it, knowing he’d only end up spilling it all over himself. So he shakes his head. Ruby startles, before realizing his dilemma and bringing it directly to his lips. He takes several, slow sips, having to stop multiple times to avoid being overtaken by nausea. After a few minutes he feels himself waning and tilts his head back to rest against the headboard.

He’s not sure if he’s ever felt more humiliated. But then Ruby, gentle, compassionate Ruby, wraps her arms around him and whispers in a voice so small he’s almost unsure if he’s meant to hear, “Thank you for saving us. Thank you for saving _her_.” 

He responds in a voice just as soft, “You think I’d ever let anything happen to you?” 

“I’m just so glad you’re alright,” she says wetly, tucking her head against his neck. 

“...I will be, kid. I will be.”

“I love you, Uncle Cal.”

As his eyes drift closed, Calroy feels Jet on his other side wrap him in the same feather-light embrace as her sister. On the very precipice of sleep, the last thing he hears is the girls he helped raise whisper to him, “I love you.”

And he thinks maybe the pain and humiliation is worth it, after all. 

Calroy wakes for the third time to a waxy-looking Dairy Islander looming over him.

“Good evening, Lord Cruller.”

He clears his throat lightly and responds, “And to you, as well. May I ask your name?” 

She raises a pale eyebrow. “Name’s Brieanna, the surgeon of this ship. Patched you up just yesterday but I’m not surprised you don’t recognize me.”

 _Ah, so we made it to the Belbaby._ He’d thought so, given the room seemed to move of its own accord, but that also could’ve been his headache, or blurred vision, or any number of other things wrong with him at the moment, so he wasn’t ever sure. 

“Yesterday? We’re headed to the Great Stone Candy Mountains, correct? How long until we dock?”

“Oh, not long, I’d think. A few hours at most. We should hit land just before dawn.” She begins unwrapping the bandages around his torso and he realizes he’s been shirtless this whole time.

“If I may, Brieanna, does the Belbaby have any tunics to spare?”

“I’ll see what I can find, but I’m not sure if any crewmember is quite your size.” She’s fully exposed the wound at this point and is scrutinizing it closely.

“Anything you can find is far better than nothing, my good doctor.”

She snorts. “No need to flatter me, my Lord, though I do appreciate having someone with manners on this ship for once. Now hold still.” 

He does and Brieanna clears away the old, crusty poultice and applies it anew before rebandaging him. 

“I’ll see what I can do about getting you new clothes.” She leaves. 

Calroy makes use of his newfound lucidity to observe the room. He’s below deck, that much is obvious, and the room is incredibly sparse. There’s the bed, a single cheesewood chair, and a small bedside table. Leaning against the bed are a pair of sturdy wooden crutches, presumably for him to use in the event he needs to climb onto the deck to relieve himself. He grimaces in disgust. _I think I’ll wait until we dock_. On the bedside table appears to be a fresh glass of a sweet, syrupy beverage, alongside a small bowl of soup. 

Feeling his stomach clench in hunger, he painstakingly pushes himself into a sitting position and carefully lifts the bowl with both hands to put in his lap. 

Between the soup, drink and his arm muscles fiercely protesting every movement, it takes him a pitifully long time to finish his meal. By the time he does, he’s exhausted, and lies back down, falling asleep in an instant.

Amethar wakes him up.

He cracks his eyes open, taking a disconcertingly long moment to remember the day’s recent events.

“Ah, Amethar,” he murmurs, still half-submerged in sleep, “Good morning, my love. Have we reached land?” Calroy is pleased when his arm, though still terribly weak, responds after only a slight delay when he reaches out to take hold of Amethar’s hand. Amethar clasps their fingers together, looking regretful. 

“Yeah, we’re docking now. Everyone else is already waiting on deck. Ruby and Jet already came by while you were asleep, but I don’t know if I’d forgive myself if I left without saying goodbye.”

The sleepy haze clinging to Calroy melts away and he has to refrain from snapping at him. _The sheer audacity of this man, thinking he can leave me behind!_

“Amethar,” he purrs, honey-sweet words dripping from his lips, “I’m coming with you. When haven’t I? That isn’t going to change anytime soon, dearest.” He speaks as though this is all a silly misunderstanding and Calroy is simply setting things straight. 

Amethar wilts. “Cal, it could take _weeks_ to get to the mountains, you need to rest. You’d be much safer staying with the Dairy Islanders.”

_Like hell I would._

Calroy sits up and takes Amethar’s jaw in his grasp, putting their faces closer together. 

“You won’t stop me,” he says, all the steady confidence of a man stating a simple fact. The sky is blue, water is wet, Amethar will always bend to Calroy’s wishes. 

“Can you even walk, Cal?”

“Would I be insisting if I couldn’t?” He’s honestly not sure, but he can feel his legs again, so he’s reasonably confident in his bluff. To prove his point, Calroy lets go of Amethar’s and peels away his blanket. He tests to see if his legs will respond properly. They do—though not without complaining—and he brings his feet down to the floor.

There’s a triumphant gleam in his eye when he says, “Oh, that reminds me, did Brieanna ever find me any clothes?”

Amethar nods, a resigned look about him, and hands him a rough linen tunic and a pair of well-worn breeches. Both, thankfully, look to be about his size. He finds himself similarly grateful that the good doctor had thought to include pants, since his own are far more bloodstained than he’d anticipated.

 _A shame, these were my favorite pair_.

He slides the tunic carefully over his head with little difficulty. Quickly, however, he finds that the pants will present more of an issue.

“Do you need help getting them on?” Amethar says, his voice an amalgamation of love and pity and regret.

Calroy tries not to sneer at his own weakness.

He looks away and says, “That would be… appreciated. Thank you, Amethar.” Using the bed as support, he rises carefully to his feet and pushes the waistband of his pants to his thighs—the furthest he can get them without bending forward. He sits back down and Amethar obligingly pulls his pants the rest of the way down, placing them to the side and slides on the replacement pair up to Calroy’s thighs. If his hands linger a moment longer than necessary, a wistful expression on his face, Calroy doesn’t mention it. He waits for Amethar to back away, stands, and pulls the pants up to rest low on his hips so as to not aggravate the wound. Tucking the crutches under his arms, Calroy looks to Amethar, raising his brow when he sees the uncertain expression on Amethar’s face. 

“Are we going, Amethar, or would you rather spend the day staring at me?” He sighs dramatically. “I’m afraid it would be a waste of both our times, what with me not looking quite as dashing as usual. You can stare at me all you like when I don’t have a hole in my stomach, now come on.” Grabbing the crutches, Calroy uses them to walk as quickly as he dares past Amethar and out the door. 

All eyes turn to them as soon as they reach the upper deck.

“Uncle Cal!” Jet cries, rushing towards him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?” Ruby questions, apprehension written plainly across her face.

“Are you really coming with us?” There’s a shine to Jet’s eyes and a strain to her smile. “Pops said you weren’t.”

“You really didn’t look so good the last time we talked,” Ruby adds, and Calroy tries fruitlessly to remember this conversation only to turn up blank. He must have been mostly asleep.

Seeing the twins crowding Calroy, Amethar edges protectively in front of him.

“Careful!” he says, “You’ll knock him over.”

The girls back away and Calroy shoots Amethar a look that would be sour if he wasn’t so tired. _What am I to you, Amethar? I refuse to be a fragile trinket put on display._ He waves Amethar off as best he can with the crutches still tucked under his arms.

“Of course I’m coming with you!” Calroy grins reassuringly at Jet and Ruby. “I might be a little worse for wear but I’ll be better in no time, trust me.” The words taste bitter on his tongue. _“Trust me”... what right do I have to ask for their trust?_ Exhaustion clings to him, nestling deep within his bones and weakening his resolve.

Theobald, staring down at him imperiously with crossed arms, interjects, “Are you so sure this is wise, Lord Cruller? I don’t mean to be insensitive, but your presence would slow us down significantly.”

“Theo, don’t be rude!” Jet swats his bicep.

“No, Theobald is correct,” Cumulous states blandly, sizing Calroy up with a hollow gaze, “In this condition Lord Cruller makes for easy prey.” 

“We’ll protect him until he’s better!” Ruby protests, Jet and Liam rallying behind her. Calroy’s touched by their unwavering support, even if it also makes him feel vaguely nauseous. 

“You heard them, Sir Theobald, it’ll be fine. Plus, I’d rather not stay on board the Belbaby any longer than I have to. I don’t know about you, but I’m not too keen on leaning over the bow of the ship just to take a shit.” _Knowing my luck, I’d fall overboard._

In his periphery Calroy hears Liam shout something about team bonding, pull down his pants, and run off the ship, but his attention is mostly on Amethar who leans over and whispers to him, “You sure you want to do this, Cal?”

“You think I’d let you leave me behind?” A sickly-sweet smile crawls across his face. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” He’s pleased to see some of the pity flee from Amethar’s eyes as the other man grins back at him. 

Amethar turns and shouts, “Manta Ray, we’re ready to go!” 

  
  



	4. The Mountains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so it's been a little while. College is kicking my ass right now so it took a Teensy bit longer than I'd anticipated to get this chapter out. Luckily I've already got a few pages written for chapter five so it shouldn't be too too long before I get that out.

Amethar shouts for Manta Ray Jack and the sailor saunters over, clapping Amethar on the knee as he says, “Took you long enough! I’ll have my men send the ship back through Port Syrup to make sure everything’s alright on that end, Morris ought to be able to hold down the fort.”

Calroy feels a shiver run through him.

“You’re heading back South? To Dulcington?”

Manta Ray eyes him.

“Aye, near to. Is that a problem, Cruller?”

Were Calroy a lesser man, he would surely have begun to sweat.

“Not… precisely. That is, I think it wise to have allies stationed close to the castle, but I also fear that a vessel clearly of the Dairy Islands might be in danger. Candia has already been infiltrated by Ceresian forces, and although we are uncertain of their exact numbers, it’s likely far higher than we are anticipating.”

Manta Ray looks skeptical. 

“The war is being waged against Candia, _not_ the Dairy Islands.”

“I realize, but the Dairy Islands were our greatest ally in the Ravening War, so our enemies may be less than convinced that you’ve left us to fend for ourselves. All I’m saying is to be careful.” His voice takes on a grave tone and he narrows his eyes. “Even in Candia, we don’t know who we can trust.”

“...I’ll keep that in mind, Cruller.” He walks away. 

Amethar leans down, a glimmer of worry in his eyes, and whispers, “You really think it’s gotten that bad?”

“I think there’s no way to know for sure, which is nearly as dangerous. For now, it’s for the best that we be wary even of people who should be allies. Now help me off the boat.”

Amethar guides him carefully across the gangplank and onto solid ground. At once, Calroy makes his way to the treeline to relieve himself and can tell that several others have separated from the group to do the same. When he’s done, he returns to where they’d been gathered and settles himself on the ground next to Amethar, who sits next to him and puts an arm around his shoulder. The crutches he places on the grass , trying to ignore the pulsing ache of his wound while at the same time internally cringing at his own weakness. When everyone returns, they all give him odd looks and he has to fight not to shrink in on himself. Ruby, thankfully, seems to notice his discomfort and pulls Jet and Liam down with her to sit on the ground with her. Eventually the remainder of the party joins them. Even Caramelinda, her peasant garb fanning out around her, has perched herself delicately upon a peppermint tree stump. 

It’s strange, seeing her in something other than her grandiose ballgowns or silken, flowing nightdresses. She’s not so undignified as to fidget, Calroy can tell, but she’s visibly discomfited by the cheap Candian cotton of her new clothing. The twins and Amethar, meanwhile, look entirely unbothered by the change. Calroy feebly adjusts his own clothing, unused to the poor quality after decades spent almost exclusively in fine silks.

When everyone has gathered around, Calroy clears his throat to get their attention. He cringes at how the action pulls at his stitches, then again at how many of their attentive expressions shift to ones of concern or pity. 

“We’ll need to discuss which route we’ll take into the mountains,” he begins, “I think it’s fair of me to say that, despite being the fastest, most straight-forward route, climbing the mountain directly isn’t feasible, especially for those of us lacking in athletic prowess. So we have the option of either traveling through the forest, or—” His eyes widen slightly and he hopes no one notices his slip. “Or cutting through Muffinfield.” _Of all the provinces in Candia, it had to be_ Muffinfield _._ He nearly groans, barely managing to keep a neutral face.

Much of the party looks ready to interject, though it’s Jet who says, “That’s great! Muffinfield is like, your place.”

“Yeah, you can get us through there in a few days, no sweat! Right Uncle Cal?” Ruby continues. She furrows her brows at his expression, repeating herself less confidently, “...Right?” 

He sighs and watches the hope on her face dwindle.

“I’m afraid not, unfortunately.”

“I don’t see why we shouldn’t,” Theobald says, “We should prioritize getting to Castle Manylicks as quickly as possible. It wouldn’t make sense to extend our journey by what could be weeks in an attempt to skirt around friendly territory.”

“Unless…” Caramelinda surmises bitterly, “Muffinfield _isn’t_ friendly territory.”

“Enemies? In our own country?” Theo turns to face him, “Lord Cruller, are you implying that our citizens are conspiring against their crown? That’s nothing short of the highest form of treason!”

Calroy’s grimace is enough confirmation in its own right.

“What evidence do you have of this—” He gesticulates wildly for a moment, “Accusation?”

_All you could need and more._

“Nothing concrete,” Calroy concedes, “But were there to be traitors among Candians citizens, they would be most likely to come from my own sect, as much as I hate to admit it.” Amethar makes an alarmed sound from next to him, loud enough only for him to hear. “Consider, for a moment, the assassination attempts against the princesses.”

Theo crosses his arms. “We have, I assure you. I fail to see how that is relevant to your accusations of treason when the perpetrators were Ceresian.”

“I only mean to say that I do not believe those attempts were an isolated incident, but rather a mere precursor to a much more debilitating attack. Perhaps even something so rash as storming the castle, eliminating all of Candia’s royals in one fell swoop.”

“Impossible!” Theo sputters. “How would the enemy manage to muster their troops so far into our borders?” 

“Exactly why the only viable troops, free to enter castle grounds without suspicion, would be Candia’s own.”

Caramelinda gasps, stiffening as realization washes over her. “The troops of House Cruller.”

Calroy nods, frowning. “What better way to catch us off guard than with our own troops, already stationed at the exact location they mean to attack? We’d be virtually defenseless, as well, considering those very troops were meant to _be_ our defense. It’s perfect.”

“But—” Theo protests, “Your own men?”

“Are they truly mine, anymore? I’ve lived at the castle for decades now. If anything, they’re my brothers’ men.” He sneers. “And we aren’t exactly on the best terms, I couldn’t attest to their loyalties.”

Liam leans forward. “You have brothers?”

“Yes, seven, and they all hate me.”

Liam purses his lips and nods, presumably in understanding, from what Calroy knows of how the boy’s own brothers treat him.

“Why don’t they like you?” Jet asks.

“Oh, they don’t approve of my choices,” he sighs, irritated, “They all think that they’d make a _far_ better Marquis than some king’s whore—” Much of the party flinches, including Amethar, who tightens his arm around him “—who does nothing but galavant around Castle Candy all day and warm the king’s bedchambers at night.” 

Jet leaps to his defense, visibly enraged. “Those bastards,” she snarls, “You’re not just some _thing_ , Pops loves you!” 

“Yeah!” Ruby pipes up, equally upset on his behalf, “And you run Candia as much as Mom and Dad do, and Muffinfield, too!”

Calroy is so touched that he’s struck speechless for a moment, which is plenty of time for Theo to speak.

“Perhaps,” he begins awkwardly, “We should limit our time spent in Muffinfield.”

Caramelinda nods her assent, “I think that would be wise, as well, Castle Manylicks can withstand a siege for a few weeks yet.”

Calroy gathers himself. “Then that would leave much of our journey as being through the woods. Liam, you know these mountains well, from what I’ve heard. Can you give us an estimate of how long it would take if we avoided Muffinfield altogether?”

Liam startles. “Uh… a few weeks? Three or so.”

_Too long…_

Everyone else seems to be thinking along the same lines. 

“If we cut through Muffinfield a little bit, just for a day, we might only be in the woods for two, maybe two and a half weeks instead,” Liam adds, apparently wary of setting foot in Muffinfield for even so short a period after what they discussed.

“As much as I want to keep our time there to a minimum, that might be our best option. Anything longer than two weeks is too long.”

“So that’s it, then? It’s decided?” Theo asks, to which no one raises any protest. “My King, my Queen, this is what you feel is best?”

“I trust Cal’s word on this, and I trust Liam to guide us through the woods,” Amethar confirms. 

Caramelinda, likewise, nods, “It seems like the best course to take to both minimize risk as well as overall travel time.”

They have a brief discussion regarding what spells they have at their disposal to disguise their presence while they travel through the more populous areas of Muffinfield. Liam, thankfully, can cast Pass Without Trace on all of them when the time is right, but they’ll need to be careful to time it right since it only lasts an hour.

They set off.

It’s several hours and many miles later—most of which he spent being carried, much to his chagrin—that they come upon the largest township in the province. If it wasn’t made clear before with the distinct lack of Candian flags and the surplus of Bulbian churches, the unwelcoming atmosphere towards them is solidified as they pass by the town square.

It appears as though a festival of some kind, clearly Bulbian in nature, is going on. There’s a whole host of children, all laughing and clapping gleefully, gathered near the doors of the largest church they’d seen thus far. 

... _Are those puppets?_

Amethar makes an inquiring noise and leans closer to get a better look.

Theo and Cumulous both step in front of him. 

“Do not watch this,” Cumulous mutters neutrally. 

Theo puts a hand on Amethar’s bicep. “Yes, my king, I think it would be better if—”

“Oh, come on, just a peek, maybe it’s about us!” He shakes off Theobald.

“If my suspicions are correct,” Calroy hisses, “It almost _certainly_ is about us, and I don’t think we need to stay and watch a children’s show, regardless.”

Amethar ignores him and leads them all closer to the commotion. The first thing that comes to their attention is the largest puppet on the stage, clearly meant to represent Amethar, yet its eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets and its most prominent feature is not the ill-fitting crown, but its massive erection. There’s a vacant-looking puppet of Caramelinda as well, though it doesn’t do much, and the twins are represented as a single puppet, obviously made to portray them as something feral and unholy. 

He hears Caramelinda make a disgusted noise while Jet and Ruby chatter to each other, sounding conflicted. As they get closer, the exact dialogue becomes audible and they hear the Amethar puppet say,

“But royal life is such a snore, and piety an awful chore. Much better still, a maid to gore, or Caramel, the king’s new whore!” The crowd cheers. 

Calroy catches Caramelinda’s eye and tells her, “If it makes you feel any better, I’m sure the only reason I’m not up there is for the sake of my brothers. We’re all fairly identical, you see, and they hate to be mistaken as me unless they want something.”

It’s only when a puppet of the Pontifex knocks Amethar’s crown off of his head and starts spanking him that Ruby appears to have reached her limit and sets the stage on fire.

“Okay!” Amethar says, “Okay, we’re done here.”

They make it the rest of the way through the province without incident, though Calroy can’t relax until they set foot in the woods proper.

Their travel through the woods passes quickly for Calroy, considering he sleeps often and has scarcely walked more than five minutes at a time this entire journey. The poison, it seems, is worryingly persistent. That, coupled with his wound that still pulls and burns and _aches_ , prevents him from keeping pace with the rest of the party. 

Calroy has resigned himself to being carried.

The only time he’s set down for any extended period is when they stop each night to rest. Liam hunts for them and they cook over a small flame. They sleep close together with no blankets to warm them. 

He sees the looks the others shoot him, chiefly Theobald and Cumulous, those looks that tell him without words that he is a burden. That he is useless. That he should’ve stayed behind. They haven’t said a word, however, because they know as well as Calroy that it’s far too late to turn back now, he’s in this whether he likes it or not. 

_I know, trust me, I know_. He’s made his decision and there’s no other option but to remain steadfast. It’s this thought, running through his head one night as he lies on the cold forest floor sharing Amethar’s body heat, that has him unsheathing the watersteel dagger from where it’s remained hidden in his boot all this time. He takes it in his hands and stares for a long moment, the unnaturally cold metal stinging his bare skin. Sparing a glance at Amethar, he staggers to his feet, crutch in hand, and shuffles painfully just beyond the edge of their camp. 

Once out of sight, he coaxes his burning muscles down into a kneeling position and sets the crutch and the knife on the ground beside him.

He starts to dig. 

It’s… more difficult than he anticipated. Several minutes pass and he’s hardly breached the sturdy topsoil when he hears someone approaching. Quickly—at least, what passes as quickly in his condition—Calroy slips the dagger into his waistband to conceal it; his boot would be too difficult to reach from this angle.

“Uh, Lord Calroy Cruller, sir?” Liam appears from the darkness.

Calroy twists a little to face him, twitching when he feels a slight pin prick of pain at his hip.

“Calroy is fine, Liam, no use for formalities out here.”

“Okay… Calroy.” He says it slowly, as though uncomfortable with the feel. Liam settles next to him. “What are you doing out here?”

“I could ask you the same.”

Calroy feels himself growing heavier with each passing moment that Liam says nothing, a slight tingling beginning to spread like creeping tendrils from his hip, outwards.

“...I've been thinking about Preston. I know that it’s a little stupid to be sad about my pig when we’re at _war_ , but—”

“Liam,” Calroy interrupts, looking him in the eyes, “Never let anyone make you feel too ashamed to grieve for a loved one. Preston was your best friend. I know that if I’d had a Preston of my own back when I only had my brothers for company, I would’ve been just as distraught if he died.” 

Liam sniffs, wiping away the tears already welling up.

“So it was true? What you said about your brothers?”

He nods sagely, “I was different from them. The runt of the litter, you might say. They wanted to wrestle, I wanted to read. They wanted to rule, I didn’t have a choice.” Looking away from Liam’s empathetic gaze, Calroy tries, again, to dig into the hard-packed soil.

“Do you need help with that?” Liam asks, sounding much more at ease despite the tears still falling.

“I—” Calroy sighs. “Would appreciate that, thank you.” He sits back on his haunches as Liam scoots closer and starts digging, easily parting the soil beneath his hands. The ground seems to pulse in front of his eyes, blending with the dark creeping along the edges of his vision. 

“—oy…” 

“—alroy…”

Something shakes his shoulder and he snaps to, lifting his head with some difficulty from where he’d been staring listlessly at the ground.

“Calroy?”

It takes him a moment before he replies, “Hm?”

“I, uh, was wondering if this was deep enough?” Liam asks, tears dried and a concerned furrow to his brow.

“Ah.” Calroy examines the hole, definitely large enough. “Yes, this should be fine,” he rasps.

“What are you trying to bury, anyway?”

Calroy doesn’t take his eyes off the cavity.

“Just… something I don’t need anymore. I’d like a moment alone, if that’s alright?” He can already feel himself fading and curses how idiotic he can be, even if he didn’t have any better option. Liam’s keen darkvision would have allowed him to see the knife if he hid it anywhere in the immediate area other than on his person.

“Oh, yeah, of course.” Liam scrambles to his feet. “I’ll, uh, see you in the morning?”

“Sure, kid. I’ll see you.” 

As soon as Liam is gone, he carefully slides the dagger out from his waistband, his hands trembling fiercely. He grimaces at the slight sheen of blood on the tip. Quickly, he places the knife in the hole and refills it. 

Standing is hard. The crutch helps, a little. Not as much as he hoped. Still, he forces his burning, weakened muscles to carry him back to camp, each step a mile, until he makes it back to Amethar’s side. He drops the crutch on the grass, lowers himself down, and lets the darkness take him.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments give me Life.


	5. The Marauders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that college is killing me! Here's the next chapter, please tell me what you think <3  
> (I'm sorry about all the dialogue lmao)

Amethar isn’t a morning person. This is not something that’s changed in the 50 odd years he’s been alive, no matter the circumstances. Summer or winter, rain or shine, war or peace, there is one thing about Amethar that has held true through it all.

He does not, under any circumstances barring an immediate threat of a violent death, wake up early. The only times he’s been awake to see the sun rise were when he never went to sleep in the first place. 

So it comes as an unpleasant surprise that, when he opens his eyes, there’s only the faintest hints of sunlight peeking over the horizon. Groaning, Amethar rolls over and buries his face against Cal’s shoulder to block out the light, but the new position means there’s different debris under him and he can’t seem to find a comfortable spot no matter how he shifts. 

“Cal… it’s too  _ early _ ,” he whines, “Make the sun go away so I can go back to sleep.” Amethar expects a retort—since Cal’s awake before him every day without fail, he’s generally the one to wake him up and, by default, deal with his complaints of  _ having _ to wake up—nothing seems forthcoming, however. Which is strange, because Cal only ever lets him sleep in on holidays and his birthday. Given that it’s neither of those, Cal should be urging him up by now. 

His curiosity is enough that he gives up on sleep entirely, sitting up and leaning in close to Cal to whisper, “Hey, Cal? Are you awake?” No response. Amethar reaches over and gently shakes him. Still nothing. Amethar swallows, repeating, “Cal? I think we’re about to get going soon, you should probably get up.” Afraid to turn him onto his back, Amethar kneels down on his other side.

Calroy is utterly still, not so much as twitching in his deep unconsciousness when Amethar pokes his cheek. He’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat and holding the back of his hand to Cal’s forehead, Amethar can easily feel the heat of fever. Tearing his hand away, Amethar stands. He should wake someone up, shouldn’t he? It’s not like  _ he  _ can do anything, he’s never been much of a healer. Then again, their only healer was dead—he spares a solemn thought for Lapin—so it’s not like anybody else would be any better than Amethar. No, nobody in their party can help Cal. The only thing they can do is take him to Castle Manylicks and hope beyond hope that they have a proper healer.

“Everybody wake up!” he shouts, “We have to get to the Castle,  _ now _ !”

Everyone startles awake. Liam, who was keeping guard, falls off his peppermint tree stump, landing square in Theo’s lap. Theo lifts him off and gets to his feet, already donning his armor.

“What happened, your majesty?”

“Yeah, Pops, why are we leaving so early?”

“Usually Uncle Cal lets you sleep in longer than this!”

Caramelinda rises gracefully to her feet, a regretful look on her face, “Amethar, is something wrong with Calroy?”

Amethar nearly curses at her perceptiveness. This woman may not love him, but by the Bulb does she  _ know _ him; it’s hard to spend two decades with someone and  _ not _ get to know them almost as well as they know themselves.

“...He didn’t wake up this morning.”

There’s a collective gasp. Caramelinda, eyes wide and sorrowful, whispers, “Is he—?”

“No,” Amethar cuts her off, unable to bear even the thought. “He has a fever and needs a healer as soon as possible.”

“My king, are you quite certain…?”

“Cal is  _ not _ going to die, Theo!”

A moment goes by in silence.

“As you say, my king.”

They all gather their limited supplies, Amethar picks up Cal, cocoons him in one of their meagre blankets, and they’re off.

As the hours pass the peppermint trees thin around them until they’re surrounded by a tall expanse of deep purple rock. They’re in the midst of a vast ravine when they hear a voice, high and frantic.

“Oh, jeez! Oh, no!”

They round a corner and see a small, gingerbread child, attempting to pull an even smaller child out from underneath a fallen rock.

The boy continues tugging at the other child in desperation, “Don’t die, little buddy! We’re gonna get you help, pal!”

Theo runs to his side at the same moment Liam whips his crossbow off his back and takes aim.

“Golly, mister, thank you so much for—” Liam fires. The bolt ricochets off the side of the ravine when a descending net forces him to dodge out of the way. Theo isn’t nearly so agile, and is caught under the net along with the boy. 

“Theo!” Amethar’s ready to step forward, but Caramelinda catches his arm and flicks her gaze upwards towards the dozens of crossbowmen all trained on them. He pulls Cal closer, curling over him protectively.

Theo and the boy are shouting at each other, what has to be a knife held to Theo’s neck. The boy reveals the other child to be a doll and throws it aside.

“I’m gonna kill you!” the boy shrieks, “I’m gonna put my knife inside you, I don’t give a shit!”

“What are you!? Where are you parents!?” Theo, arms pinned, shouts back.

“Oh, they’re dead, I put ‘em in the fuckin’ ground for trying to send me to a little Bulbian monastery!”

“I don’t like the Bulb either!”

The boy freezes and withdraws the knife. Mockingly, he calls out, “Hey, Gooey, this guy says he doesn’t like the Bulb!”

A woman on the cliff emerges from the shadows, her skin a deep purple, chocolate weapons gleaming in the light. In a deep voice, smooth as silk, she says, “Swifty, you say we have found some fellow enemies of the Church?”

The boy, Swifty, laughs and thrusts the dagger close to Theobald’s throat once again, “Seems like it, unless this one’s a fucking liar!”

“I’m not lying, I swear, just put the knife away!”

He doesn’t, leaning closer and dragging the jagged blade lightly across Theo’s bare skin, “You know what I do to liars, right?”

“I can take a guess.”

“The same thing I do to everybody!”

“Yes, you—”

“I stab ‘em!”

“Yes, I realized!”

“I’m a fucked up little guy!”

“I know, I know! Just—” Theo inches away from the knife, “Fuck the Bulb, okay?”

“Yeah,” Amethar agrees awkwardly, “Uh, fuck the Bulb. We don’t like the Bulb, at all.”

As puzzled as he has ever appeared, Cumulous utters, “That child stabs everybody?”

Everyone gathered on the cliffs clangs their weapons in unison as a second figure makes his way towards Gooey, who looks at him and says for all to hear, “What do you think, Jon Bon?”

Jon Bon surveys them all for a moment before declaring, “Enemies of the Church…” He trails off, considering. “Enemies of the Church have business with the queen.”

As soon as the words leave him, everyone begins chanting with such vigor that the sounds echo through the ravine.

“Long live the queen! Long live the queen!”

Theo, still struggling to extricate himself from the net, turns excitedly to Caramelinda, “This is good, they must mean you. Something good finally happened!”

Caramelinda, an upward lilt to her voice, answers, “I think so?”

Cumulous casts a curious gaze upward, “Who is your queen?”

Jon Bon and Gooey exchange glances, and Jon Bon laughs deeply.

“Who is our queen?” 

Gooey folds her arms, “Who is our queen, indeed.

“Do none of you know?” Amethar asks, irritated.

“Oh, I fucking know, alright!” Swifty bursts out, and stabs at Theo shallowly through the gaps in his platemail. 

“Ow, why!? I didn’t say anything!”

Swifty draws back his arm to strike and Liam, crossbow leveled at him, yells, “I am Liam Wilhelmina from the House of Rocks, and these are my mountains! Remove this net immediately!”

Simpering derisively, Swifty says, “Oh, it’s Count Freezyburg, Jawbreaker’s boy.”

Liam fires the crossbow.

Theo muscles Swifty to the side and the bolt ricochets off his armor.

“What are you doing!?”

“Liam, calm down! If this little guy wanted to slit my throat he would’ve done it already, he’s very stabby.”

“I only look like a kid, I’m forty-three years old!”

Liam takes aim again, “You’re all talk!”

“I used to be married!”

Everyone is shouting over each other until Cumulous interjects,

“Can we talk to anyone else?” And everyone stops.

“Oh, sure,” Swifty says, “You can all talk to the queen!”

The marauders belay down the cliffside with vigor and shackle each one of them. A woman approaches Amethar, armor so dull and worn it reflects only the slightest sheen even in direct sunlight. His hands are full.

“If you’d give me your hands?” she drawls. It doesn’t sound like a question.

“I, uh, kinda need my hands free. I won’t cause any trouble.” He’s sweating, he takes an involuntary step back. In one hand she holds the cuffs while the other thumbs at the hilt of her sword.

Her eyes narrow. “For the safety of the queen, I insist you allow me to restrain you. Just drop what you’re carrying and maybe the queen will allow you to retrieve it after she’s spoken to you properly.” 

Amethar feels a shock of outrage run through him before he remembers that Cal is concealed in a thin blanket. This woman can’t have known she ordered him to drop a clearly ill person on the ground. He forces himself to calm down, hugging Cal closer. “I can’t do that, sorry. This— _ he _ is why we’re in the mountains at all. We’re looking for a healer.”

“Is that a man, then? One in need of a hand skilled in the ways of healing?”

Amethar nods solemnly, peeling back the blanket to reveal Cal’s ashen face for the briefest of moments. 

Her eyes appear to soften, though the shrewd look remains. “I believe we can make an exception for you.” She turns away. Over her shoulder she says, “Our queen is a healer, you know, so you’d best get on her good side.”

A team of marauders lift the net off of Swifty and Theo. Theo is helped to his feet and cuffed, while Swifty darts from person to person around the clearing, paying special attention to each of them. He zips from Cumulous to Amethar after being pinned by an empty stare. 

“What’s that in your arms? Let me see!” 

“What? No! Its—He’s—”

Swifty gasps, a feral grin blossoming on his face. “Is that a dead body?” he breathes. His pupils are blown wide as he takes in each shuddering breath. 

Amethar shields Cal with both arms, lifting him higher as Swifty tries to grab hold of him. “He’s not dead!”

“Then I’ll make it quick!” Swifty shrills, finally ripping the blanket free from where it covered Cal. Upon seeing him, Swifty breaks out into high-pitched cackling. “Looks dead to me!” Smiling cruelly, he murmurs, “Trust me, I’ve made plenty of corpses. He’d fit  _ right in _ .”

“Stay away from him, you little bastard,” Amethar hisses. Fighting the urge to punt Swifty across the clearing, he tucks the blanket back around Cal and strides away, intent on rejoining the others. As he does, Jon Bon pushes aside a large boulder, revealing a passageway hidden in the mountain pass. A marauder grabs one of his arms each and all of them are led through the passage, deep in the mountain itself. 

A short journey later through the caves, glowing with blatantly magical energy, and they come upon the entryway to a vast chamber. A melodic chant reverberates the air and everything is awash with a cloying, minty sweetness. As they approach, blue torches set themselves alight, illuminating the purple mountain rock surrounding them on all sides. They enter the chamber and the light spreads, creeping up the stairway at the far end of the space.

Gooey stands before them.

“All kneel for Her Majesty, Queen Saccharina of the House of Frostwhip, first of her name, sovereign ruler of Candia and the Sugarlands,” Her voice rises in fervor, “Witch-Queen of the Dairy Sea and High Priestess of the Sweetening Path, Archmage of Lost Sucrosia, and enemy of the faith,” All the marauders clang their weapons in unison, “The Sundae Sorceress and Storm-Captain of the Frosted Fleet.” The weapons clang once more and the flames rage to their utmost height, shedding light upon the far-reaches of the grand staircase. Their captors slam them to their knees as, at last, the figure seated in the throne is revealed by the light of the raging fires. Queen Saccharina of House Frostwhip languishes on her throne, smiling serenely down at them all. She is a woman of great prowess, that much is clear from the sheer magical energy that she radiates alone.

“I’ll have you freed soon enough, don’t you fret.”

There’s a tense pause where nobody says anything.

“Well, we’re not free now, are we?” Ruby grouses.

Saccharina’s smile doesn’t waver. “Nobody really is in a monarchy, if you think about it.”

Cumulous furrows his brows. “Aren’t you a queen?”

“Yes. I am the legal heir—or, after all the fuss that’s happened recently, the legal  _ queen _ of Candia and the Sugarlands.

Amethar’s eyes dart to Caramelinda, who speaks then with outrage and disbelief, “By what claim are you legal queen of Candia?”

“Oh! I’m sorry… was I introduced as Saccharina Frostwhip? Some other people might know me as Saccharina Ghee.”

_ Ghee?  _ Amethar inhales sharply and the air stutters in his chest. If he weren’t already on his knees they surely would have given out. For lack of anything better to do he holds Cal more tightly, praying his grip isn’t bruising. 

Liam, perceptive for once, shoots him an alarmed glance he almost doesn’t catch. Conversationally, Liam says, “Hey, I’m Liam, I am also from these Candy Mountains…”

“Ah, yes! Oh, you are the child of Jawbreaker. I have heard such wonderful things about all your mothers and fathers.”

“Yes, they’re great! Um, I was wondering, since you know who I am and all, if you could let me go, and I could shoot that gingerbread guy in the face.”

Nonplussed, Saccharina clarifies, “Swifty?”

Liam hums in agreement.

“Yeah, it doesn’t exactly work—”

Swifty interrupts her, “Love to see you try, asshole!”

“Oh, come on!” Liam effortlessly sheds his bindings, squaring up.

“Honestly, Swifty’s a sick fuck, take a stab at him if you really want to.”

Liam roars, drawing his crossbow.

Laughing, Swifty exclaims, “You’re stupid if you think I wouldn’t be into it.”

Lowering the crossbow, Liam utters a confused, “What?”

“He’s—he’s gonna like it, just don’t hurt him,” Theo mutters awkwardly.

“You wanna die?”

“Oh, life is already torture!” And he laughs again.

Still breathing fast, Amethar struggles to his feet. “So, I’m looking at my daughter.” It’s not a question and he doesn’t try to make it one. There’s no room for doubt in a world like theirs, in a place like this, in a family like his… In a family like  _ theirs _ . Denial is equally as useless. This woman is his daughter, of that there is no question, and even if he cannot even  _ hope _ to be able to make up for lost time, he can start by being honest. 

“You said it, not me. Don’t worry, I’m not here to sort of… rekindle some kind of relationship, or make up for—” She makes a vague waving motion with her hand, “ _ everything _ . I have no illusions about any of that, but I do think—”

“I am.”

She freezes. “You’re… what?”

Amethar takes a step forward, looks her in the eye even as the shame and sorrow encompasses him at the thought of having abandoned her, his own daughter.

“I'm here to do all that!” A chill runs through him and he takes a deep breath. “I… I want to  _ try _ , at least.” 

Nobody moves, nobody breathes as Saccharina wordlessly rises from her throne and, step by heart-wrenchingly slow step, descends the stone staircase. An intense, wide-eyed look on her face, she stops a fair distance away from him. For a long moment they simply take each other in, strangers and family and adversaries all at once.

“You mean what you say?”

Amethar continues to meet her stare. “I do. I wasn’t there for you before but now that I know you’re here I’ll never leave you again. If… if that’s what you want. I understand if you don’t want me around; it’s not like you have any kind of obligation to give me a chance.”

“No, I do, truly! Forgive my hesitation.” The intense air about her settles somewhat and she smiles tranquilly. “Though… if you didn’t know I was here, why  _ are _ you in these mountains?” She gestures to Liam with her staff. “Is it to do with him? Perhaps to see Jawbreaker? That makes the most sense, really, considering everyone else believes him to be the new ruler of Candia.”

“Well, that is where we were going, but we—”

Swifty cuts him off, suddenly at his side, “It’s about that man, isn’t it? You wouldn’t have to worry about it if you just  _ gave him to me _ !” Swifty jumps, fruitlessly attempting to grab at Cal while Amethar holds him out of his reach.

Intrigued, Saccharina says, “A man? Have you brought yet another person with you?”

“Yes, he’s—” Amethar kicks out at Swifty, who only screams,

“Queen Saccharina, he brought a dying man that I want to make into a corpse, make him give it to me!” And he draws a dagger and stabs into Amethar’s calf. 

“Fuck!” His heart skips a beat as Calroy momentarily slips from his grasp, though he manages to grab him with one arm and press him flush against his side. With the other hand he grabs Swifty and lifts him by the wrists, holding him at arm's length. It’s only that the chamber is still so eerily silent that he hears the breathy whisper of,

“...Amethar?”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are how we show love around here.


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